Loving

Being in love is magic. It's breath-taking, awe-inspiring, higher than anything anybody could ever imagine previously to falling for this one person. Love songs and fairy tales seem over-exaggerated and foolish until you too fall into the giddiness that is romance. And then they seem, if anything, pale in comparison to the vibrancy of the life you live daily. Nothing is impossible with your darling by your side.

The thing is, what happens to your relationship when these feelings subside into the more mellow warmth of sustained relationships? What happens when you look at your heart's desire and see, of all things, a real person? What about when fairy tale happily ever afters are all too simple and life is more complex than that, and you have to, shockingly, actually work through problems?
I haven't got there yet.
So I can't really give you expert advice, sorry.

I do, however, know one thing. If you care enough about something you will make it work. It doesn't matter if loving seems hard. It doesn't matter if you are tired, if you can't find motivation, if you feel like maybe you merely deluded yourself into believing in love when in reality all you experienced was a hormonal reaction. You work on that relationship no matter what.

If something is worth having it is worth working for.


I look forward to the day when I'm older and long-married and can look over at my husband and know that I consciously chose him. It wasn't a passing whim of Eros. It was my conscious decision to love that man with all that I am, not merely with my heart.
I sincerely hope that you who have already committed your lives to somebody have truly thrown yourself all in, not holding back anything. And those of you who, like me, haven't taken that step in your lives yet, prepare. Prepare to give your life to your husband, or to your wife. I will.

We Are All Boxers

Although the lower classes of society are indispensable, leaders don’t really care about each worker as an individual. On the Animal Farm, Napoleon used Boxer and other animals because they supported his power. However, for a dreamer like Napoleon to love a follower such as Boxer is impossible. As a tool he is valuable; as an animal he is nothing. Boxer grew feeble, and Napoleon sold him to the knacker. Boxer devoted his entire life to working harder and supporting Comrade Napoleon. He was a model citizen, rewarded by murder. Boxer’s work earned no respect. The worker cannot work; what use, then, is he, but to profit by his death? Here we see Orwell’s analysis of political condition. The upper and lower classes have a permanent disconnect, which always works against the lower class. Sometimes leaders will, like Napoleon at Boxer’s memorial, give grandiloquent speeches in praise of the proletariat, but nothing they do will be valuable on a personal level. To these gods among men, the world is an overgrown factory composed of replaceable pieces that must be updated to work smoothly. As an individual, I feel that I am important, that I mean something, that I am more. But there is something within myself as I read Animal Farm which whispers that in reality, I am ‘less equal’. Boxer’s death is undeniably painful; but is it painful because the innocent Boxer was killed unjustly or is it painful because of our own expendability?